


The more I sense your spirit (the less I seem to know)

by mikeginsanity (blahblahwahwah)



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: ABSN, All Bawson Smut Network Sinning Sunday, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cheating, F/M, Post Season 1, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-09 00:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8868841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blahblahwahwah/pseuds/mikeginsanity
Summary: Mike & Ginny at the ESPYs.Smut on a Sunday





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bawsanity (CrowsGirl15)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowsGirl15/gifts).



> This fic is based off [this tumblr](http://mikeginsanity.tumblr.com/post/154423818057/ginnysmikes-bawsanity-mikeginsanity) conversation and this dress:
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> Title from "Girl in the green dress" by Phillip Gallant

_Girl in the green dress_  
_What are your intentions?_  
_You are spellbound with thoughts_  
_But enigma upon enigma_  
_Conceals your secret heart._  
  
_Girl in the green dress_  
_What are your aspirations?_  
_The more I sense your spirit_  
_The less I seem to know._  
  
_Girl in the green dress_  
_What are your realisations?_  
_Or perhaps you prefer to hide_  
_Behind the shadow of your words._

_\- Phillip Gallant. "Girl in the Green Dress"_

* * *

 

 

Ginny only changed her mind when she saw _them_.

The jade (or was it olive?) green gown that Amelia had picked out for her was rejected at first.

Ginny felt naked in it. It was so loose over the top that it was not conducive for a bra, so snug over her ass that it called for a thong, a wraparound bodice that gave the term ‘plunging neckline’ a whole new definition, far too many cuts, no back, flimsy material, a slit so high it called for body makeup to cover the knicks and bruises over her leg.

All in all, a killer dress, sure – but highly prone to wardrobe malfunctions.

Evelyn fought like a tigress in favour of the dress, bitching and moaning as though Ginny were rejecting some offspring of hers. Amelia merely sighed and offered to look for another option, but made it a point to remind Ginny to let her know in case she’d changed her mind.

Ginny was determined she would not change her mind.

And then she saw them.

Mike and his girlfriend.

(So what, if she was his ex-wife. So what, if they were talking about remarriage.)

There was no attempt to hide to affection in his smile when he put his arm around Rachel and kissed her. His eyes were closed as his beard merged with her lips – and – Ginny thought, with a stabbing pain to her heart that - he was at peace.

Ginny’s a mature person. This sort of restlessness and irritability is unacceptable. Her petulance bordered on infantile back when learned of Amelia and Mike, but that had more to do with her lingering adulation and the sting of being left out of a secret.

This time it’s different.

This time, she cannot explain that deep empty ache that hits her when she looks at Mike; this time he’s her friend, her _dearest_ friend. The man who stood by her through rehab. That lovable pain-in-the-ass, who wouldn’t let her back down. The man who steered her through despair and self-doubt.

She doesn't know what it is. All she knows is that it’s more than just childish covetousness.

 

So, yes, they don’t talk about it.

As far as Mike’s concerned, there’s no _it_ to talk about.

It’s complicated because they’re teammates. It’s complicated because he is makes it clear that he’s still in love with Rachel. It’s complicated because Ginny’s seeing someone else.

It’s complicated because – it’s complicated, period.

There’s a deep, dark recess for unresolved issues where she shoves it, slams the door, padlocks it, and throws away the key.

She isn’t _allowed_ to feel jealous.

Except, she does.

She isn’t _allowed_ to want.

Except, she does.

So – she calls Amelia. Tells her that she’s changed her mind.

Wears the fucking dress.

 

*

 

It feels like an out of body experience.

Mike takes one look at her and freezes in his spot. His mouth goes dry, his palms turn sweaty, his heart races.

One minute he’s smiling, beaming at Rachel, kissing her forehead, posing for the cameras –

-and the next minute Baker’s there in his peripheral vision. Wearing _that_.

She’s with - the guy. That genius billionaire who makes her grin from ear to ear. Casey’s grinning with pride and Mike reckons the fucker’s an inch away from preening with an unspoken victory written on his face: that he’d landed _the_ girl – the _woman_  that was on his arm.

‘Cause, Bakers’s all woman today. Every single inch of her.

And Mike can only gape helplessly.

 

He hates to admit it, but Casey is a height-appropriate, age-appropriate, and status-appropriate match for the phenomenon that’s Ginny Baker. It sucks that he’s a nice, kind hearted, quiet guy too, a fair complement to Baker’s vivacious personality. He’s less likely to break Ginny’s heart and if Mike didn’t live with this constant burning desire to act out on what he felt that night outside Boardner’s – Noah fucking Casey is the exactly sort of man he’d approve of.

Mike, though. Mike is a parched man, grappling at a mirage in a desert of loneliness and isolation, surrounded by people.

 

*

 

Truthfully, when Ginny looked at herself in the mirror, she didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her. The single-string diamond choker around her neck was Noah’s gift and as uncomfortable Ginny felt wearing it, there was no doubt on how it complemented the dress. She wasn’t too excited about sleek wet-hair look either. At least, Evie had the kindness to keep her make up at the barest minimum.

Noah was super appreciative of her appearance. Even to the point of joking about how they should ditch the whole evening and make a run for his boat.

Ginny laughs at his joke. But, that’s not what she’s triumphant about.

The pressers have already lost their shit about her appearance and she feels more glamorous than the time when she went to the Oscars. Her _Padres_ boys are all praises as well, and Ginny feels privileged and pretty.

But that’s not what she’s triumphant about, either.

(The culmination of her dirty little secret, that’s what she’s celebrating.) Mike’s reaction. The ultimate prize.

He’s gawking at her. She knows he is, and it makes her deliriously albeit perversely happy.

She’s not playing fair, she knows that too. She’s screwing with a friend. (Maybe her only friend.) 

When it seemed as though Amelia’s words would come around to haunt her, Ginny looked up for the proverbial person she needed and to her pleasant surprise, she wasn’t as alone as she expected.

Mike was there.

He didn’t fail her. He didn’t manipulate her. He didn’t exploit her. He didn’t even patronize or placate her. He treated her with respect, treated her like an equal – became the support system she needed when everyone ran away.

Ginny knows that she owes it to him to be happy for him. For as long as they’ve known each other, his inner turmoil, his desperate craving for happiness and peace has been evident to her. She knows that she's not being fair to him by being jealous of the one thing that makes him happy.

Rachel makes him happy.

 _Not you_ , that terrifying inner voice accuses. _Never you._

 

He looks pretty fetching in that dark-grey suit in Ginny’s opinion. His beard is neatly trimmed, his hair’s all neatly combed, he totally rocks the tie. There’s hint of a tan lingering from all the time they spent in the sun at training and at the games and, yes –  Rachel, in a beautiful baby-pink dress that shows off her petite frame, complementing her alabaster complexion, with her beautiful long red hair - Rachel, makes for an exquisite arm accessory.

Ginny’s heart flutters every time she connects with the intense look in Mike’s hazel eyes. She steels up her resolve and grins, pretends to be oblivious to his reception.

He doesn’t respond. He just stands there regarding her. Doesn’t even look apologetic about it.

Ginny knows that her infantile victory will be short-lived. He’s going to snap to his senses, turn his back on her, walk away, pretending that he never looked at her like _that_ in the first place.

It is, after all, his way of dealing.

 

*

 

Compartmentalization wasn’t just the key. Compartmentalization was survival.

He boxed his emotions, shelved them into the unreachable attics in his mind, refused to acknowledge their presence until they grew silent and faded into oblivion.

 _A moment of weakness,_  Al had described it. New girl – made him feel laugh, made him feel young.

Rachel was the real thing, Rachel was where his heart was. Rachel was home.

The night before the last game of the last season, Mike mowed through a torment of conflicting emotions and went to his ex-wife’s hotel room. When he saw the happy smile on Rachel’s face, he told himself _this_ was right. When he pressed his forehead to hers, he reminded himself _this_ was what he wanted. When he kissed her – he told himself _this_ was what he needed. His ministrations were driven with familiarity, he stroked her like a blind man acquainted with an old lover’s touch and sounds.

Except, there was the deep, dark secret to his physical reconnect with Rachel. Something only Mike, and his conscience were recognized.

That he had his eyes shut more than open. That he didn’t dare to open them and look at Rachel as much as he should have. That he’d made love to Rachel but he was thinking of Ginny as well.

When Rachel came back ready to recommit, Mike makes the effort. Not just with Rachel, but with himself. He purposefully shuts the door to everything else. He doesn’t _let_ his mind think of Ginny as anything beyond Baker. He remains there out of deliberation for ‘Baker’, as her teammate, as her captain as her friend - within boundaries.

Grey, blurry boundaries – but boundaries nonetheless.

Rachel was what he wanted, Rachel was his one and only.

Rachel. _RachelRachelRachel._

Except…

Ginny was there too…

In his life, in his mind, in his dreams.

She’s walking around carrying something - something, that might just be part of the ticker beats in his chest, resting in her hands.

The door was closed, but not quite. She was _just_ ‘Baker’, but not quite.

One balmy night out on the curb of a relatively dark, relatively empty street. Her molten eyes, her full lips, her breath on his mouth, her eyes on his lips.

_(Hey, Ginny!)_

Nights - when he’s awake, lying motionless, with a storm raging inside, he imagines what would have happened if Oscar hadn’t called or had called to confirm the trade.

_("You have an early flight._

_"Yeah.")_

 

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He can’t feel his neck move, but he assumes that’s what it does, because Blip is in his vision.

When did Rachel leave his side? When was he surrounded by his teammates? How is it that he was standing there, dumbstruck, rendered witless on a red carpet, with his legs made of lead, lifeless? 

He looks frantically for Rachel and meets her green eyes. She’s moved away to chat with friends from her network. His pounding heart, slows down with relief when he finds her smiling at him. (Was it possible that she _hadn’t_ noticed that Baker was the object of dumbfound gaze?)

Mike smiles back, wiping his sweaty palms against his jacket and looks at Blip.

“You okay, man?” Blip looks worried.

Mike shirks it off with a lopsided smirk and a wave of his hand.

“C’mon, they want a picture of the team.” Blip grabs his arm. His legs move but just barely.  From, the peculiar expressions on Blips’ face and the weight he applies on Mike's arm, it’s obvious that Blip can sense the foot-dragging state of fugue that Mike feels trapped in.

Ginny’s all dimples and teeth, blushing coyly at the whistles of appreciation and compliments the Padres guys are showering on her. All of them clamour around her like little schoolboys, flocking her on either side. Mike’s too numb to feel possessiveness, but he does notice how Robles blushes ( _fucking_ blushes!) when Ginny places her arm around him and grins at the camera. 

Mike tips his head at her, attempting to nod, forcing a smile - she grins back radiantly. He deliberately lingers at the furthest end of the group for the shot, frantically scoping a way to escape so he can hide behind Rachel at the earliest – maybe for the rest of the night.

But the pressers aren’t having it.

They want a picture of them.

Just the two of them.

He almost declines (out of self-consciousness, mostly) but then they are presenting an award together after all. It would be stupid to just walk away.

Ginny’s standing taller than him in those heels, smelling like jasmine perfume and hairspray. Mike smirks in random directions at the blinding flashes of light, shoving his hands in his pockets. Someone directs them closer and he unwittingly places his palm on her back.

Bad idea.

Fucking _worst_ idea…ever.

There’s no back to the dress. All he gets is bare skin, smooth and warm. Her breath hitches, an audible sharp gasp that Mike does not miss.  But, she doesn’t look at him, keeps her face and chin up in the direction of the flashing cameras.

And his dick wakes up. 

Mike gulps and shifts uncomfortably, smiles and nods wherever he’s called.

He catches the sight of Noah Casey, standing not too far away, still beaming at Ginny. He glances at her face, sees that Ginny smiles wider whenever she meets Casey’s eyes.

“Lookin’ good, Baker.” He compliments her, just before he steps away and goes to the woman who was once his wife.

“You too.” She smiles back.

Mike determinedly walks to Rachel, aware of Casey and Ginny cleaving to each other again.

Rachel and him are a good thing. Ginny and Casey are a good thing. Ginny and Mike, as friends and teammates – that’s also a good thing.

Mike’s not going to ruin a good thing.

He’s not going to do it, again. It’s just not what he does anymore.  

 

*

 

Ginny’s fidgety. The dress itches. Those heels feel too precarious. That goddamn necklace feels like a fucking collar.

“You nervous?”  He asks, as they wait backstage, waiting to be announced.

“No, it’s just that I’m not comfortable in these heels.” She says, looking down at her matching green stiletto sandals. “’Think I’m gonna fall on my face up there.”

He grunts out a charming, friendly sound. “Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”

Ginny almost forgets herself when he smiles at her, warmly. She gawps at him, speechless and flushed. He rolls his eyes, then. “Now don’t start about how you don’t need some _man_ to help you up if you trip on stage in a televised award show.” He teases.

“Ha!” She snorts. “You’re saying that as though you’re not gonna be standing there laughing your heart out, instead of helping me?”

A chuckle sputters out from him. “Yeah, I probably would.” He grins. “It’d be a hell of thing to see, eh? Ginny Baker in her fancy designer dress, catwalking out on the stage and – splat!”

Ginny scoffs. “Huh! With those rickety knees, Old Man, chances are, _you’re_ the one going splat! I’d be surprised if you didn’t trip on the beard.”

Mike strokes his beard, laughs with her, and playfully swats her arm with the back of his hand.

“Ugh!” She laments, leaning back against the railing. “I thought they served food at these things.”

“It’s the ESPYs Baker, not the Golden Globes.” 

“Whatever.” Ginny twists her mouth.

Mike grunts and shakes his head.

One of the ushers gestures for them to start walking up to the stage.

She stumbles.

(With a side slit that wide, the flapping fabric was bound to snag on something.) His hand is already there, arm wrapping around her back, curling over her side steadying her. It’s just his callused palm and her naked skin. Something like a hot electric thrill smarts through her belly.

“I got you.” He says, gently.

It’s the same tone he used with her through the rehab sessions and and still uses at training. When she was feeling like shit, when her body was being difficult and stubborn, he dialled back the grump, cantankerous teammate-slash-catcher-slash-captain and was just... _there_.

He doesn’t seem remotely affected by the touch. Dutifully withdraws his hand when she’s gotten her bearings. Ginny checks the side of her dress – and the side of her body where the bodice hangs loose – exactly at the spot he touched. She prods the skin, checking to see if the shape of his hand is embossed. (Sure feels that way.)   

“You okay?” He asks, peering into her face with concern.

She feels overwhelmed enough to cry. She looks away, holding her emotions back, waits on as one of the assistants figures out how to release the dress.

“Yeah!” She breathes, pretending to check for any potential wardrobe malfunctions.

He chuckles dismissively and then offers his arm to her when the cue guy signals to them. It feels awkwardly intimate to take his arm like that. Ginny tries not to think about it as they climb to the top step.

 

*

 

The hostess is some famous comedienne that Mike’s heard of but never really bothered to watch. Her introductory joke about them is sexist, crass, and stupid.

It starts out innocently enough.

“Our next presenters are players from the San Diego _Padres._  Each a legend in their own right.  He’s the captain and lead catcher, two-time ESPY winner himself. MVP so many times, they might as well call it the ‘Mike Lawson’.”

A roar of laughter rolls through the audience.

“ _She’s_ Ginny Baker. Her name’s like an introduction within itself.” The hostess pauses, probably for the benefit of comic timing. “The first woman to break into any of the four major league sports teams. A pioneer for female athletes. She is - a young, powerful athlete, with a killer body and a role model for young people everywhere…” She pauses, and then adds. “Basically - everything Lawson is _not_!”

Another rumble of laughter follows. Mike rolls his eyes. Ginny seems mildly amused.

“And…” The hostess raises her voice. “They’re batterymates! So! She’s also - _prrrobably -_  the only woman unrelated by blood or over consenting age that he can’t bang!”

They might as well have thrown a bucket of ice water his face. In that instant, Mike thinks of Rachel and Ginny gasps indignantly by his side. 

For a reason completely unfathomable to Mike, the audience eats that up and everyone’s laughing their heads off.

“Ladies and gentleman, here to present the award for the Best Female Athlete, from the San Diego _Padres_ , Mike Lawson and Ginny Baker!”

There’s a standing ovation when they walk on stage. He knows it’s for Ginny and that doesn't offend him.

Ginny’s shaking her head with a polite a grimace for the hostess. Mike doesn’t bother with a smile; he nods at the offensive woman with a murderous glance, before they take the mic.

He grits his teeth at the audience. Gets a glance at his face on the large projector screen; it could pass off as a smile.

“Strength, drive, discipline, focus, competitiveness and unique tenacity under pressure.” Ginny starts slowly, reading off the teleprompter. “Faculties and hallmarks that constitute a female athlete.”

It’s his turn to read out shit, but Mike’s still ticked off by the stupid-ass comment and the idiot hostess.

“Hey! Baker!” Mike over-dramatizes, ignoring the teleprompter. “Since we’re about female athletes, what’s the term for people who reduce hardworking, ass-bustin’ women into categorical objects of male conquest just because they can’t come up with a better joke?”

Ginny’s smile freezes and her eyes widen in panic. Pin-drop silence takes on a whole new meaning right then. Mike glances meaningfully at the not so amused hostess standing in the wing. Then he looks over the gleaming lights in the direction of his teammates, finds Blip and Evelyn with identical nervous expressions; he seeks out Rachel – who Mike notes – has a pensive amusement on her face.

“Erm… ‘ _Assholes’_?” Ginny pipes up, hesitantly.

Mike snaps his head at her, intrigued and impressed. “Oh!” He blinks, mocking innocence. “I was going for ‘ _Not funny’_ but ‘ _Asshole’_ works just as well!”

A thunder of cheers and claps erupt through the audience with a several congratulatory whistles. Mike grins with a smile so charming and so wide that even the crude hostess breaks into a sheepish smirk.

Ginny beams at him with pride. He allows himself to soak in the warmth of her beautiful smile before he turns to the teleprompter and announces the nominees.  

 

*

 

“Nicely done.” Ginny compliments him under breath as they wait for Simone Biles to finish her acceptance speech.

“Let’s hope that’s you next year.” Mike mumbles, nodding towards Biles.

“C’mon Mike.” She rolls her eyes.

“What? It’s not like you won’t deserve it.” He shrugs.

See – _that_ , right there, is the problem with him. There’s never anything surprising about how Mike sticks up for her. He’ll do it even when they’re at odds. He’ll defend her even when she doesn’t want it. She wants to slat him under as the grouchy, cantankerous, moody asshole friend who’s not worth her attraction, especially if he’s not interested in her. Problem is - he’s kind, gentle, encouraging and thoughtful. (Also, ten different levels of ‘let’s-not-go-there’ sexy).

Ginny huffs with frustration as they exit the stage.

He’s back with his wife, she reminds herself.

 _Ex-wife. Wife. Wifewife_. _His_ wife.

It’s likely that Rachel’s the reason for his good humour and kindly demeanor. It’s probably Rachel who brings out the best in him. Ginny’s merely a hapless bystander, privileged to witness but not important enough to participate.

She lingers back to talk to Simone; watches Mike and the hostess from the corner of her eye as they exchange some good-natured ribbing with a very ‘no hard feelingsy’ vibe between them before the woman goes back up on stage.

The back-stage photogs & pressers want more pictures of them both with Simone as well as with each other. There’s few silly questions, a lot of jokes thrown around by Mike. (Ginny gets one in, too. “Yeah!” Ginny cheerfully agrees with someone. “I totally think Lawson should host next year, too!” Mike rolls his eyes at her.)

And they’re finally done.

Now this little bubble of just-the-two-of-them will be broken. She goes back to Noah. He goes back to Rachel.

It’s that simple.

 

*

 

“Wow! That was weird, hah?” She fans herself as they head out the byways on the off-stage, towards the side door to the main auditorium. “You’d think they’d come up with better jokes in the twenty-first century.”

Mike grunts in agreement.

There’s a small shimmer of sweat on her face. Mike notes how she flutters her eyes repeatedly and then lifts her hand to her eye.

He catches her wrist just before she jabs it into the mascara. (The fact that he knows what mascara is speaks volumes about how old he is and how married he was.)

“Easy,” He says, as she looks at him in bewilderment. “Don’t wanna ruin your makeup.”

“Er – thanks.” She says, looking at him strangely.

His ex-wife was a TV personality; this wasn’t his first rodeo, he’s about to tell her that but notes a familiar expression on her face when she reaches for the clutch purse in her hand pulling out some tissues and her phone.

“Look, there’s a bar out in the lobby.” He says, knowing that’s her hungry-face. “I’m pretty sure they’ll have something you can eat.”

Her happy-face fills him with more joy than it should. 

He’s about to lead her in the same direction when her phone buzzes then and she looks down at it. She smiles at the phone, sweetly.

Mike knows what that baby smile means as well. It’s Casey.

(He knows far too much about Baker than he should, that’s the problem.) He sucks in his mouth and looks away. That nagging feeling of irritation hits him with more impact than expected. 

“Rachel’s waiting for me.” He says, in a deadpan tone. “I should probably head back inside.”

“Erm…” Her smile widens, she shakes her head when she looks up at him. “Yeah, uh…” She follows him to the door of the auditorium. “Yeah, me too.”

 _(Not_ thinking about Rachel, thinking about Ginny? 

What is he doing? It’s – it’s just wrong.)

 

Casey and Baker are seated on the same row as him and Rachel, but they’re on the other side of the aisle.

Mike opens the door for her like the true gentleman he pretends to be and lets her go in first, follows Ginny at a slower pace intending to keep as much distance between him and her.

Which doesn’t turn out to be such a good idea after all.

She patters across down the widest row. The back hangs low over the small of her back. His eyes are glued to her sashaying movements of that glorious ass, remarkably obvious in that dress. 

(If he palmed his way under maybe he - _Shit! )_

God, he’s fucked.

 

*

 

Ginny’s hungry, bored and restless, and not necessarily in that order.

The awards ceremony has the occasional entertainment but the acceptance speeches are so monotonous that she can predict who each winner is going to thank next. (Spoiler alert: his mom. Spoiler alert: his agent. Spoiler alert: God). She looks over at Noah and smiles at him.

Noah’s right for her, Noah’s good to her. Noah is a sweet, kind, caring guy.

Noah’s…( _…not Mike,_ that evil voice inside whispers.) Mike is…

He’s right across the aisle, engrossed in deep conversation with Rachel and two broadcasters she recognizes. Ginny thinks that they look like a couple who’ve been together since forever. 

She chides herself, unable to understand why she’s having such immature reactions to that thought. She’s better than this, she’s bigger than this.

Mike probably senses her eyes on him or something. She looks away just as he turns his head in her direction. She looks at Noah, who’s observing her peculiarly.

“Everything all right?” He asks her.

“Er – yeah.” She sighs. The look on Noah's face suggests he’s trying to gauge the truthfulness of her words.

“Noah?” She counters.

“You just seem a little off.” He says with a small smile and then cups her chin and kisses her

“Oh!” Ginny lies, wincing as a reply to his kiss. “I uh – it’s what she said…that introduction. I didn’t quite like that.”

“Okay, of course.” He says. “It was unfair to you.”

“And Mike.” Ginny says.

Noah rolls his eyes. “Yeah, maybe not the best forum to say that.”

Ginny frowns. “I’m sorry?” She says.

“What?”

“What does that mean?” She asks.

“She insinuated that he would sleep with you if he had to opportunity.” Noah speaks like he’s agreeing with her, with a confused head nod. “She objectified you, right?”

“Yes,” Ginny says. “And basically accused Mike of being some sort of man-skank.”

“Which…” Noah shrugs. “Is kind of true?” He says, dropping his voice and wincing meaningfully. “I mean, I agree it’s not the best way to introduce him but…”

“He’s here with his – he’s trying to reconcile with his wife, Noah.” She asserts, incredulous at his insinuation. “Not only is it not the…” Ginny makes air quotes. “ ' _best way to introduce him_ ' It’s also as insensitive and as cruel as objectifying me.”

“Can’t be the same.” Noah shrugs. “Mike Lawson’s not…”

“He’s the most disciplined and one of the hardest working player on the _Padres_.” Ginny cuts him off, trying her level best to keep her voice down. “He’s experienced, he’s determined and he’s completely committed to his work!"

“Ginny. I didn’t mean to say he wasn’t a good guy.”

“And she basically just dismissed all of that with one statement.” Ginny whispers – or attempts to.

“Look,” Noah sounds patronizing. “I get that you feel you need to defend him because he’s your teammate and it was really nice that he stepped up for you on stage…but, don’t you think - you’re overreacting?”

“He’s more than just my teammate.” Ginny hisses, angrily.

Noah blinks.

_Oh God._

“I mean, he’s my friend. And…” Ginny stutters. “And, I’m sorry but she just slut-shamed him – or whatever the male equivalent of that is.”

Noah’s just staring at her. 

 

*

 

It’s one thing to see them in the tabloids. But, when they’re right there – in front of him, it’s a whole other thing.

Mike made a noise that he knows Rachel heard when he spotted Noah putting his lips to Baker’s face. He looks away from them at first, ends up seeing them on the giant screen when the camera pans to them. He looks down at his phone, keeps sneaking glances at them.

Something’s wrong.

Casey’s back is to Mike. Baker's sitting half-turned in her chair facing her boyfriend in a way that gives Mike a clear view of her face.

She looks pissed off. Her mouth is pursed in an angry grimace that has her cheek dimples tense in the way they do when she’s holding back a foul expletive.

Baker rises first. She seems to be in quite the hurry when she gets out onto the aisle and marches out. Casey looks worried and sheepish, making a futile attempt to look unobtrusive in pursuing her.

Mike doesn’t know why but he’s filled with that creeped out feeling he used to get when his mom would bring over one of her ‘gentleman friends’. 

( _A real shitfuck and hypocrite, aren’t ya, Mikey_?) He snorts at himself in self-reprimand.

“What’s wrong?” Rachel asks.

Mike reckons that she’s spotted him frowning .

He shakes his head.

“Is it what she said?”

“Who, Baker?”

Rachel blinks. “No, I mean…” Rachel nods in the direction of the hostess who’s cracking another lame joke.

Mike squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his forehead. “Er…” He lies. “Yeah, a little. I was worried about you.”

(It’s somewhat true.)

“You know I’m used to all that, right?” Rachel says, in placating tone. “I work in television.”

Mike winces at her and glances in the direction of the empty chairs where Casey and Ginny were. He looks back at Rachel before she becomes suspicious.

“It’s just…” Mike sighs and racks his brain for the easiest lie he can find. “It was awkward – for us both…Baker and me, I mean.”

Rachel doesn’t seem to notice his ruse. She smiles at him with affection and pats his hand before she leans back, turning to her ongoing discussion with her friends about something that Mike has no interest in. He sits there for a few minutes, his mind running permutations of what might have transpired between Casey and Ginny.

He looks back at the door they exited, realizes they’re not back yet.

“Rach, I need a drink.” He says, leaning towards her. “Do you want something?”

“Water, I guess.” She says, preoccupied by the discussion going on the other side.

He comes face to face with a very dazed Eliot when he exits to the lobby. He looks around, unable to spot Ginny or Casey. Mike knows that there’s no way Baker would ever be that indiscreet to have an argument with her boyfriend (- and he knows there’s an argument happening for sure -) in any place where the paps might spot them.

“Are you looking for Ginny?” Eliot says, sounding worried.

“Huh? What? No.” Mike says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “No man!” Mike rambles. “I was just – looking for the – uh- bar.”

“Oh.” Eliot echoes.

“Why?” Mike says, trying to keep a straight expression.

Eliot frowns at him and then points in a direction looking like he’s in a trance. “I er – saw her and Noah Casey headed that way…” He huffs, and shakes his head. “It’s just that – they seemed a little…uh…never mind.” He promptly turns around and points in of a large signboard that’s blatantly obvious when it says: _Refreshments._

“Thanks man!” Mike says, hurriedly, scurrying in the direction that Ginny was supposed to have headed off.

“That’s not the way to the bar!” He hears Eliot call.  

A voice of alarm inside his head begs him. To stop, to retreat, to return to his seat, to mind his own shit. It’s telling him that Ginny’s a big girl and that’s it’s probably just some lover’s spat that he has no business intruding on.

But there’s another voice too – deceptive, sneaky, not at all subtle. It tells him that he’s only concerned for his rookie’s wellbeing…that he’s justified in wanting to check up on her.

He seeks out the hushed, strained, furious sounds wafting through the empty circular gangway beyond the backstage exits to what looks like an isolated projector room of a small private theatre. He spots Ginny through the half-opened door, pacing up and down flailing her arms about, rolling her shoulders – twitching her neck, her mouth drawn tight, grinding her teeth as she speaks.

Mike finds a wall to hide behind just as Noah Casey (who until then, Mike assumed was a soft-spoken man) bellows. “You know, you _almost_ had me convinced! That you were _just_ friends, _just_ teammates!” Casey continues.

Mike hears it – a whole world of hurt that’s in Noah Casey’s voice. “I wanted to put it down to just a latent attraction, maybe a crush – maybe even the fact that you admire him! I really did! But it’s not that, is it, Ginny? It’s not about that, at all!”

There’s no answer from her end.

“Tell me something.” He hears the waver in Casey's voice. “It was him, wasn’t it? On our first date? When you took off in the middle? And then his trade didn’t work out. And then what -? I was supposed to be the placeholder?”

An icy, invisible hand wraps around Mike’s heart.

Baker – _Ginny,_ doesn’t answer.

“He calls – you pitch, isn’t that how it works?” Casey prompts.

“You’re being ridiculous!” Ginny speaks finally. “Mike’s my teammate, we can’t be together. Besides he’s in love with -”

“He’s in love with his ex-wife!” Casey intervenes, completing her statement. “Yes, we’ve already heard that speech, Gin. But see… _that’_ s not what you’re supposed to say when you’re trying to convince me you’re not in love with him. The right words to say are: ‘ _I don’t love him, Noah. He’s not the man I want to be with!’”_

Mike’s stomach drops. He flattens his back against the wall – struggles to quiet his loud, ragged breaths.

“Does he know?” Casey sounds, caustic – and fuck, so goddamned hurt that Mike feels sympathy for a guy he’s pretty much hated for the last couple of months. “Does he know… _how_ you feel?”

“He’s not in love with me.” Comes a weak reply.

“Again.” Casey snorts, speaking in a soft, bitter, but resigned tone. “Not the right answer.”

Mike squeezes his eyes hut, waits for Ginny to stop saying the wrong answer. He waits for her protest; mentally wills her to defend herself in some way.

Casey grunts, sarcastically, breaking the potent silence that feels unbearably heavy.

“ _That_ -!” Casey says. “What - you’re feeling, right there? Being in love with someone who wants to be with someone else…that’s what I live with. Every, single, day. _That_ – is what I feel about you.”

“Noah, what do you want me to say?”

“I just told you I loved you, Ginny. And all you have to do is either tell me you love me back, or that you need more time – anything!” He shouts. “Anything! Ginny – tell me anything, or something that can convince me that there is a chance-! A hope! For us!”

Silence. Not a word from her end.

“You’re so full of shit!”  Casey’s voice drops to an even controlled tone. “If you won’t respect me enough not to lie to me, at least stop lying to yourself!”

Mike ducks away when the door creaks open. He exhales a long shaky breath with closed eyes, waiting for Casey’s footsteps to fade.

This, he recognizes, is where he should walk away.  This is where he should recognize that he’s a selfish, insensitive intruder on the destruction of his friend’s love life. This is where he should grant her the privacy she needs. This is where he should pretend like nothing’s changed and pretend like he’s heard nothing. This is where he thinks of Rachel. This is where he thinks of himself. This is where he thinks of Ginny. This where he should wait at the end of the corridor, where he should make a joke or say something that distracts her from her pain.

He should not go to that room, he should not open the door wide, he should not wait for her to turn around at the sound, he should not feel numb against the vehemence in her gaze.

 

*

Noah's wrong. She’s not in love with Mike. She just – doesn’t know how she feels.

This is the part of the movie where she runs after him, screaming denial, begging for her to forgive him. Either that, or she’s supposed to cry.

But she doesn’t because – she can’t.

Ginny shudders, watches him walk away. She sobs and reaches for the diamond choker, wrangles it loose. She almost flings it angrily, but it’s – she knows it’s not right, not fair to have taken her frustration and anger out on him.  

She runs her hand into her hair – into the fucking gelled hair, that she hates right now. She shakes her head feeling suffocated and trapped. She rakes her fingers through all that icky hair gel, pulling it back and rubbing it on the damned dress that would cost a lot more to fix than buy.

The door creaks behind her and she feels revulsion and rage at once.

“Fuck off, Noah!” She bites out. “I cannot see your face, right now!”

Except it’s not Noah.

A tawny light fills the room. It's a poor illuminator, seeping in from dim lights of the empty theatre that the room overlooks. It doesn’t do much to hide the look on his face – or the look in his eyes.

His eyes - vacant, stunned, glistening. Hazel in the day, but here in the dark, she does not see colour – only emotion.

He’s heard everything.

He knows – everything.

What does she see on his face, though? He’d never be so cruel to make a mockery of her feelings. But he’s with Rachel – isn’t he? He’s with her because he wants to be, doesn’t he?

 _He doesn’t love you_. _He doesn’t want you like that. You’re just a pithy distraction, a fleeting awkward moment on a street months ago when his head was all fucked up._

So all he could possibly have for Ginny is pity.

Pathetic, miserable pity.

 _(Widdle Ginny Baker wid her widdle cwush!_ A voice taunts. It’s warped, acerbic tone that sounds a lot like Mike.)

“Fuck off.” She whispers. Tears, which she could not find for Noah, come flooding with a torrential force.  “I cannot see your face, right now.”

 

*

 

“Fuck off, Noah!” She growls. “I cannot see your face, right now!”

Mike isn’t sure how he’s standing here now.

 _You ruin everything,_ that dark mysterious inner voice taunts him. _You ruin everything, for everyone._

It was his call, after all – not to talk about it – that night outside Boardner’s. So what, if she reiterated it. So what, if she made it her decision.

He was trapped between the reality of obscurity and the promise of a legacy. He was trapped between longing and familiarity. He was trapped, so he pushed it all away. Ran after what he knew – stayed where his heart was supposed to be, stayed where _home_ was supposed to be.

He stares into brown eyes, wet with tears. Not a sound is made, and yet heartbreak, accusation, violation scream back at him. He’s staring at that quivering lip, cruelly pinned down under punishing teeth. He’s aware of her fist clenching, gripping that necklace dangling by her side.

Her recognition of him doesn’t bring a smile to that lovely face. There’s only torment; a painful, scathing awareness of the truth that cannot be pushed away anymore.

That he heard. That he knows.

(That she does feel _that_ _which cannot_ _be named_ between them.)

Mike would know. He feels it too.

“Fuck off.” Her echoed repetition is hollow and lifeless. Tears spill. “I cannot see your face, right now.”

He should do that. He should respect her wishes and back off.

He just – he can’t.

Mike steps in and shuts the door behind him.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> infidelity alert.  
> don't say I didn't warn you.  
> In honour of Sinning Sunday and the brilliant inspiring participants of the ABSN who keep me entertained.
> 
> a/n: something to think of while you read:
> 
> [This video and that Song](https://youtu.be/guqOR4jJYYA)
> 
> And this scene:
> 
> * * *

Mike is the outlier here.

A curious interloper intruding in at the wrong place at the wrong time. There’s a chastisement in her eyes. She’s questioning him silently: _what right do you have to step in on my personal embarrassment?_

The spectre of the boyfriend-who-walked away remains an invisible presence between them. Had Mike never followed them, Ginny would be here, alone. Probably _not_ weeping like that.

It’s not like Mike hasn’t seen her cry before. It’s not like he doesn’t know _how_ to remedy it. He usually makes a joke, starts an irrelevant rant; and if diverting chatter is beyond him, the least he can do is give a cursory hug.

And yet, now...

Mike doesn’t know what to do.

He stands paralyzed, watching her wipe her cheeks in angry, repetitive motions. She sticks her chin out stubbornly, daring him to speak. He consciously counts down to the point at which she starts to fidget. She averts her gaze, shoves that ridiculous necklace into her purse, fusses over her dress.

(The fact that he knows her quirks down to the seconds of execution, speaks volumes about his obsession with her.)

He acknowledges that at least – that he is a man obsessed.

And yet.

Mike doesn’t know what to do.

 

* 

 

The funnel of light that crept through the corridor gave some brightness to the room while the door was open. Now this tiny space is plunged into a dimly-lit, dismal space that mimics the hopelessness that Ginny feels.

She can’t bring herself to rebel, to protest or push him away. She just waits and waits – and waits. For Mike to do what he always does.

Attempt to console her, inquire on her wellbeing, maybe even as a personal question or two. Then, dismiss her emotions as being irrelevant, remember that he has a wife (an ex-wife, whatever - ) waiting for him. Turn around and walk away.

One step forward, three steps back and they’ll be back to that awkwardness and clumsy proximity that makes it impossible for her to think straight for weeks until they resettle on another new level of normal.

They’ve done that so many times before, she knows how to wade through.

 _This_ though. This…quiet confrontation. _This_ is new.

She’s long past being ashamed at crying in front of him.

(He’s seen her in greater states of despair – through the worst phases of her recovery. She doesn’t cry so easily, but even through the occasional outburst, he treated her no differently than a player crushing his bat or flinging the water cooler in the dugout. She’s reached a point where she’s comfortable with letting him see the tears.)

She’s ashamed because of the way she feels.

Because, she knows better than to fall for a ballplayer – especially a teammate. Because, she knows better than to give in to some childish uncontrollable infatuation for a man who – divorce or no divorce – is emotionally married to someone else.

Ginny cannot bear it anymore. His silence is as unbearable as that stunned, helpless look on his face.

She refuses to be the first to speak.

She drops her chin, rattles the diamond choker, willing her body into some action. She finds a distraction with the purse, drops the necklace in and claps it shut. Tries not to think of Noah or his harsh revelation of the truth. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand before she places the purse on the dusty, dilapidated projector table. She feels so exposed under Mike’s gaze that she looks down her shift, fretting over the slit of her dress. She pulls her cramped, stilettoed feet together.

Somehow the foolish act of dragging the skirt of her gown together, tugging one edge to wrap over the other, hiding her leg gives her a semblance of control.

Until his shoes step into her view.

Ginny sobs, watching the rounded toecaps touch the hem of her dress. She blinks away tears and looks up.

 

*

 

He’s a coward.

He can neither take charge of this, nor back away from it.

He’s the coward who can’t step up, can’t make a decision, can’t make the call.

He’s just – He can’t.  

He wants _it_ so badly. He’s been wanting _it_ since before that night outside Boardner's but he never had the gumption to own it.

Mike’s not a cheater. He doesn’t take fidelity, lightly. If he crosses this line, there’s no argument to justify it. His ex-wife’s foray into unfaithfulness was never intentional at the outset – and yet it ripped their years long relationship to shreds. A deliberate attempt on his part to grasp at a forbidden longing, even at an emotional level -

\- it would be far worse.

There’s a part that reminds him of Al’s words.  It begs him to consider the price at which this second chance was obtained. It begs him to consider that a woman he’s known for a greater part of his life is waiting on him in a packed auditorium.

But Ginny’s here, too. They’ve barely known each other for a year. Maybe she fit into Al’s definition of the ‘new girl’; the one who made him laugh, made him feel young – but…

But.

She _wasn’t_ the distraction.

She’s the intangible space of solace he immerses himself in. The sunshine that filtered into darkest crevices of his tortured soul, crept into poorly healed scars that existed before Rachel and sealed them with an unasked-for grace that he did not know he needed.

 _Ginny_ is where his heart is.

And he wants her.

Only her.

He just -

He’s fucked this all up so badly, he can’t take a single step further.

 

He looks up at her like the sinful wretch seeking for hope. At her current height, she’s taller than him.  She’s looking down on his face, with her back to the only source of light in the room. He cannot see well enough to get a read on what her eyes might hold. All the faint light illumines are the tearstain-tracks on her cheek.

Mike closes his eyes and waits.

He doesn’t allow himself to wonder what he’s waiting for.

 

*

 

An inch taller than him in these ridiculous sandals and she still feels small and powerless. He’s searching her face – his freakishly long lashes flickering like he’s hunting for an answer, like the darkness impedes discovery of a solution.

He’s too close. So close, that Ginny sees the pupils of his eyes, blooming out – adapting to the murky glow that fills the room. She would step back – if she wasn’t trapped by the invisible hold that’s rendered her immobile. She would step back – if his intense gaze didn’t imprison her.

She told him what she wanted, right? She told him to get lost. She gave him the exit. He’s the one who stepped into the room, into her little world, the one that ceases to exist beyond this moment.

She’s still frozen when his eyelids drop and rise and drop again between her mouth and her eyes.

It’s like that night outside Boardner’s again; the neon lights, passing cars and an unconcerned driver their only witness.

Ginny isn’t sure, if she _sees_ , or _feels_ that slight tilt of his head. The pilfered light from the theatre isn’t sufficient for her to detect subtle movements. She _knows_ inside, that if she tips her nose up, she’ll be able to run it over the lightly formed furrows on his forehead; if she tips her nose down, she can run it over the bridge of his nose.

He closes his eyes, exhales silently.

She swallows and waits.

He’s waiting, too.

 _The right thing for to do,_ that cruel voice states, _is step away._

 

* 

His breathing snags when her nose touches his. He steals a touch, brushing his eyebrows against hers. A sob of respite escapes him in that brief second in which she flattens her forehead against his.

He allows himself a glance – just the one. Draws back, but only slightly.

Ginny’s looking at his mouth through her lashes, leaning her face. Her mouth is parted – her respiration as shaky as his. 

“Rachel.” She murmurs.

Ginny has low tolerance for cheaters and Mike knows it. His ex-wife’s name is her last line of resistance. He knows it’s more for his benefit that hers.

_(“You have an early flight.”)_

This is her last warning, the last and only out he gets from her before they’re forced to face its fruition.

“Yeah.” He exhales.

He drags his eyes to meet hers; rolls them shut when her warm breath ghosts over his mustache. He stays still.

(That’s his move. That’s his call.)

He’s perfectly still because he doesn’t want to miss a thing.

(Now, it’s her turn - throw the ball, or wave it off.)

His heart pounds nervously. He stirs forward, parting lips when her lower lip nudges against his mouth. There’s no perceptible feel or taste – it’s nothing more than a sensationless, hesitant brushing of skin against skin.

His lips tremble as she pulls her chin back, her jaw bumps against his nose when she twists her mouth, her eyelashes flutter against his own. There’s a tremor in the hand that he lifts to her waist. He billows out feeble, ratchetty breaths.

 

*

 

She’s never seen him _this_ overwhelmed. Never to the point of trembling like this.

He’s shaking. Whatever it is that makes him shudder like that, is bleeding out of him and diffusing into her. She’s unsure if it’s fear or apprehension. Even in the dark there’s palpable astonishment visible on his face. It's like – like, he’s received a pardon after the death sentence was signed, after all hope was lost.

When his mustache bristles against her mouth, the fleeting touch of lips is too brief to process anything. His grasp over her waist feels unsteady and hesitant, but it tows her body to him, displacing the sliver of space between them that left any scope for retreat.

There’s a desperation on his face. Ginny doesn’t know if it’s a trickery of light or if those are truly unshed tears. He stares at her, unblinking, when he brings the other palm to her cheek. He barely touches her face. Only the sharp edge of a fingernail traces her jaw in a timid, cautious, wavering line. It’s a gentle, hesitant action.

Ginny inhales a deep breath as his hand curls and quaky knuckles skate to her chin. Ripples of _something_ shoot through her until his thumb settles at the corner of her mouth. Ginny exhales when he presses the side of her lip. Her lip quivers under his thumb. The crotch of her underwear feels damp and hot.

She gasps, softly. Mike inhales - loud, long and deep -  he presses his trembling mouth over hers.

He licks her tongue and Ginny lets out a raspy, shuddering sigh. They kiss like that. Hoarse, breathy, artless sounds escaping them. There’s no finesse, no synchrony.

But Ginny’s _not_ unaffected. If anything, a heady warmth overtakes her. The scraping sensations of his beard against her skin blend with the tentative pressure of his thumb over the corner of her lip. It’s like he’s long pressing some sort of trigger in her body, fanning a spark into a flame – a flame into a fire – a fire into a blaze.

The last tear that lingered in her eye, brims over and slides down her cheek. Ginny slips her fingers into his beard, whimpers with longing…and lets go.

 

*

She’s shaking. About as much as he is.

Mike shivers like he’s been sitting up in a tub of ice for hours with no respite.

Except, he’s not cold.

He’s filled with an uncontrollable hunger that’s raging through his system, an intense thirst that cannot be curbed or quenched. He’s oversensitized, overstimulated – raw, exposed.

(One would think a man like him would at least know how to kiss properly.) Her mouth is soft, and inviting; and yet he’s kissing her like he’s new to this.  He _feels_ clueless. He’s worried if there’s a right way to kiss her. If she likes tongue or if she prefers dry, smaller kisses. She makes a whiny little sound when he runs the tip of his tongue against her lips. He cannot tell if it’s approval or protest. He cannot be sure if she’s grinding up against him of her own volition, or if he’s projecting, forcing his arousal on her.

He’s anxious about doing this right. That _is_ what he wants -   _for her_. For it to be right - _for her_. As far as his desires are concerned, Mike just wants _more._ More of her mouth. More of her moans. More of her hands exploring his back. More of her pushing her front against his.

More of this – more of her.

She breaks away, sucking in air, heavily. He pulls back confused – wondering if he’s done something unpleasant or if she’s snapped to her senses, or if he’s going to get slapped in the face. 

His hands behave like they’ve got a mind of their own; completely disconnected with the fact that he’s just gaping at her.  He’s surprised that he's got a handful of her ass, fingers digging into the round edges kneading through the flowing fabric. 

She looks turned on. Or maybe it’s the lack of light that has her pupils so wide.

Mike doesn’t know. (A promiscuous, groupie-fucker like him.  Him - with his tirades of ‘longer and harder’ and ‘anywhere and anytime’. And he doesn’t know.)

Maybe he should stop.

(But -

He’s being pulled in for another kiss.)

He tells the voices in his head to fuck off, grabs the back of her neck, and gets it right this time.

 

He’s done.

He’s done pretending to know what’s right and what’s not. He’s done fucking around. This feels like home. _She_ feels like home for him.

She moans. The sound buzzes from her mouth to his and something snaps.

 

*

 

It’s like the shaky grip he had on his restraint was cut loose. The guttural noise he makes is the only preamble she gets to the fierce, frantic embrace she’s enveloped in. Ginny sighs, opening her mouth wider, arms looping around his neck, her body lugged up flush against him. _Something_ comes alive under his touch. She’s gasping, making urgent sounds, trying to get as much of him as she can.

She growls in protest when his mouth detaches from her. She whimpers when he trails kisses down her neck. He rakes his palms all over – branding her with just a swipe of his hand. His beard is soft, and wispy. The hair doesn’t feel prickly or grate her skin like Noah’s five o’clock shadow. Every connection it makes heightens her arousal. Each pleasing sensation he evokes leaves her wanton, craving for more.

(Fucking smug SOB, he’s right.) She _loves_ the beard. 

Ginny grapples with tufts of his hair, stumbling backwards, tripping over those godawful heels when he walks her backwards.

 

*

 

Her skin tastes chalky and salty. Makeup and the unique flavour of her person.

Mike stretches an arm out for support, flattening it against the wooden frame of the projection booth. Ginny’s staggering back and rubbing up against him at the same time. It’s driving him crazy. 

He pulls away from her neck, covers his mouth with hers. She slumps against him, her breasts squash up against his chest.  

The fabric of her dress is soft and flowing, easy to skate his hands on.She makes those noises when he pets her through it. (A year ago, she’d bitten his head off for patting her ass, and now she’s opening her mouth wider as he rolls it under his palm. If his dick hadn’t taken over this entire operation, Mike reckons, he’d have the sense to ask her if she’s sure about this but - when she’s kissing him like that – Mike assumes it’s a yes.)

She sucks his tongue in and the surge in his body does him in. His elbow buckles, his arm gives way, and she trips, taking him with her. His hand is a happy prisoner under her naked back. He allows himself the perverse victory of being able to slide it down the dip of her spine, slip it under the fabric, press a finger at the base. She grunts and breaks off, her teeth tugging at his lips. She rams her hips back, trapping his fingers between her ass and the wall.

 

*

 

Ginny’s backed into the wall, and there’s not enough light for her to make sense of his face. All she has is touch, taste and sound.  She tries _not_ to sigh with pleasure, not to moan her affirmatives when _those_ calluses skate over her skin. She sighs, bucks her hips away from the wall, shoving it against the hard bulge that’s poking at her belly. She seeks friction against it, is rewarded with the firm urge of his hips against hers.

She groans in a mix of satisfaction and arousal, wraps her arm through his jacket, around his back, tries to force his body closer. His back is hard and broad. She traces the cuts of his muscles through the silk shirt. His loud, grating gasps, filling the vacant emptiness in the room – mixing with her own husky moans. 

She’s never been more grateful for such a long slit in a dress and the room it gives. She pulls her thigh up, humping against him as he ruts against her. She grunts when his fingers drag over the bare skin. She whines urgently, when his thumb trails upwards, his teeth worrying the skin of her neck. She bites her lip in anticipation, makes a noise when his fingers strum over the flimsy nylon string resting over her hipbones. It makes her jerk back, her head finds a buffer in his palm. She didn’t even realize his hand made it up to cushion her head.

He makes a surprised noise when his fingers trace the crotch of her soaked thong.  It’s dark, she’s horny as fuck, her vision is suboptimal and his head is bowed.She can’t see his face even if she wants to.

Ginny bears down against his hand. Making sloven, noisy attempts to gather reprieve. He twists the crotch of her thong, pushes it away, swipes his fingers over – _Oh fuck!_

Ginny cries out, arching her body up. He’s tracing the cleft between her folds with a dexterity that’s far too clever for her to outwit by a mere roll of her hips. An absurd tickling sensation fans out from her sex. She presses her lips together, tries to hang on to it.

She grunts in protest when he abruptly pulls his hands away.

A strong familiar scent hits her when he skates his palm over the crook of her shoulders, rapping gently against her collarbones. Damp, intermittent tracks of her own juices are traced over her body in random patterns. Ginny grunts, forcing some space between them, she helps him tug the straps over her shoulders down her arms, twisting frantically, barely registers the soft fabric pooling around her waist. He cups her boobs with his large hands. She groans and curves up, squeezing her eyes when he pinches her erect nipples together. She grabs his head when his mouth closes on one and his fingers toy with the other, writhing with urgency. He’s frustratingly gentle at first – but a little encouragement by running her fingernails through his scalp and he’s biting, licking, sucking them, with as much eagerness as she hopes to fuel her arousal with.

 

*

 

 _She’s so wet. She’s so wet._ That’s the only thought bouncing around in brain. How fucking _wet_ she is...for him.

The noises she makes when he sucks her tits are inebriating enough but – her scent -   _God!_ That crazy scent of her warm viscous arousal that hit his nostrils had Mike’s dick leaking from the get go. 

Ginny lets out a muffled growl, splays her hips wider when he slides his palm down the back of her thigh. She fans her leg out of the defect in the skirt, allows him to reach the warmer inside of her thigh. He bites little kisses from her neck down her breastbone. He flattens his tongue under the dip of her ribcage, and rakes it up. She shudders in response much to his satisfaction. He tastes sweat over her chest, a salty flavor that intermixes of the chalky taste of makeup when he drags his tongue and beard up the column of her neck.

She's grabs his face and kisses him between broken breaths. Her fingers scrabble with his tie, tugging it lose, fumbling with the buttons of shirt at the same time.

Mike draws back to look but only half her face is illumined. He strokes under her thigh, gently grinding into her. She moans softly and closes her eyes, screwing up her eyebrows when his finger slips in the crease between her thighs, plays with the string that drapes over her hips. He trails his forefinger over the wet crotch and rubs through it.

Ginny’s mouth falls open and her eyes rolls shut.

It gives Mike just enough leverage to take stock of the situation. It’s a thong, a skimpy fabric that gives way when he hooks it aside. He slips his fingers through, caresses her skin - all silky smooth and hairless. Those white teeth appear, biting down on her lower lip as he massages her. He feels sloppy, chaotic and thrown off balance. He’s never been so frenzied in attending to his own needs at the expense of giving her as much as he can. 

If he chooses to give, then he’s torn between getting her off on his fingers or dropping to his knees and have her come on his tongue. If he chooses neither, then he’s torn between kissing her and frantically trying to get his hand and mouth everywhere he can. If he chooses either – he’s torn between fucking her right here in this shoddy dimly lit space, surrounded by her sounds, her touch, her taste and her scent...or dragging her as fast as he can to a hotel room, map out all that honey-bronze skin, watch her blush, hold her gaze when he makes her come. Either way he’s ready to die in her arms, after. 

He almost pulls his hands off her, tries to tell her there’s a proper way of doing this. But he can’t voice anything but the loud panting sounds that match her heavy ragged gasps.

Ginny turns her head to the side, opens her eyes. The whites of her eyes appear first – her irises invisible against the dark night that’s flooded this room. When Mike scrutinizes them against the luxury of the faint light that’s shining on her face, he sees lust and want.

Pupils dilated with desire, swollen mouth, moving with long puffs of air.

He damned nearly growls with a perverse feeling of  possessiveness. He roughly shoves his fingers between her soft and slick folds, reaches for her clit. She grunts out, harsh and loud. Her hand clamps on his shoulder for support. 

Her clit is slippery and stiff. He jangles his wrist when he pinches it, steadies her by the waist, wedging her by his bulk in that position, teases the the stuff flesh relentlessly. Ginny drops her head into his shoulder and pleading whimpers satisfy his ears.

The sounds alone have him reeling.

He ought to say something. At least, let her know how hot and wet she is, try to whisper sexy stuff in her ear like he typically does. Mike opens his mouth to say something and finds he’s at a loss for words. 

He presses his forehead against her, closing his eyes and takes in the noises she makes. He huffs out a breath, against her forehead, trying to kiss her, trying to brush his mouth against her chin. All he accomplishes is nudging her nose. He kisses the crook of her neck and trails kisses up and down the side of her face as he fondles her clit. Her hips rotate gently, meeting the pressure of his hands. Mike pushes the heel of his palm over the soft mound at the apex her thighs, pulls back, purses his mouth when he finds the brim of her cunt, ready to fuck her with his fingers.

Ginny cries out, just then. The sound comes out like a kitten mewl, reverberating against his ear. She throws her head back, thumping it against the wall, slack jawed, gaping at him with bulging eyes.

Mike watches in amazement as she flutters around him. Before he even tries to slip his finger inside, she snaps up, arches out – grinds her teeth and hisses loud.  _"Oh - f-fuck!”_

Mike’s watches with bewilderment – unable to wrap his head around the fact that she’s orgasming. Just like that. Her pussy’s throbbing there, right over his open palm, she’s still cumming, her release slathered over his fingers. He’s amazed.

“Mike…” She huffs out, clawing into his shoulders, with a grip so tight he can feel the bones of her fingers through his jacket. “Please.” She adds, in a desperate whisper.

Her thong snaps in place when he pulls his hand out. He lugs her closer, cups her face – his fingers glistening and tracking a slimy trail over the side of her cheekbone. She moves her head, neck like it's made of jello, passively following his gestures. He turns face into the light, observes it carefully. She’s not pleading with him to stop – she wants…

Her hand cups him over his pants, weakly rubbing in circular motions. Sensations of pleasure pulse through him. He grunts with satisfaction. She smacks her lips, and wags her head around, leaning into his palm and then pulling away, closing her eyes and bumping her ear into his palm, again. 

He tightens his grip around her waist as she caves. He pushes her up against the wall, hoists her up, pushes his knee up between her thighs and bunches her dress up over her waist. He rolls the undergarment down to her knees, Ginny shakes her legs until it slips down. Mike tugs at her thighs, she obediently lugs her her hips up and wraps her legs around his thighs. 

She hums and purrs, leaning back against the wall, gaining traction to free her hands from his shoulder and reach for his fly. He keeps her propped up against the wall and releases her, just long enough to help her unbuckle his belt, unhook his pants, slide the zipper down. He spreads his legs to hold his pants and boxers over his hip. His dress shirt hangs loose and Ginny pushes it up just enough to wrap her sinewy hand around his engorged, upright dick. He pushes his palms on the wooden panels, flattens them on either side of her, lets her jack him off.  Mike groans from the contact. Her grip is relatively weak and flaccid, still shaking from the aftershocks of her climax.

He rests his forehead against her chin, _loving_ the calluses on the edges of her fingers rub up and down his rigid shaft. He grunts in pleasure, lets her get in a couple of long, jerky strokes before he takes over.

Mike pumps a couple of strokes while nipping at her chin, unsure of how to start the conversation about protection when he’s pretty much said nothing till now.

He – doesn’t have a condom. He’s stopped carrying one in his wallet for a while now. (It’s not like this was a planned encounter.)

She doesn’t seem inclined to asking about it.  He can’t see her eyes in this light for confirmation but she’s nodding furiously like she's waiting for him to get going. He looks straight into her face one last time, she appears lucid enough. He rubs the head against her folds and she slides her hip towards him, even gets her hand between them to grab his dick and guide it.

Mike plants kisses all over her face -  cheeks, nose, mouth, neck. He widens his hips and bucks his knees for leverage, lines them up.

Her mouth falls open. His jaw drops. Her tight cunt covers him, slow and easy.   

They groan together when he slides in. 

Mike holds his position halfway, waiting for her to adjust. He grabs her thighs, easing the strain on his back, levers some weight onto her, bracing her, giving her the time she needs. Her gasps are husky and sharper, almost moans. He feels her pushing down further, a strangled whine erupting from her as he bottoms out.

And then – he just breathes.

His heartbeat is rabbit-paced, his lungs feel constricted, his entire body feels tense, his old-man back and knees are already kicking up a fuss - but he ignores it all.

He’s joined with her, skin to skin.

The raging wildness ceases – everything goes still inside him.   

There’s no place he’d rather be than right there inside her. There’s no place he wants to go where she doesn’t exist.

 

*

 

That throbbing heat emanating from his naked cock inside her has Ginny completely overpowered.  He’s holding still, his stocky thighs bracketing hers from beneath. One arm around her waist, the other braced against the wall behind her.

He’s waiting – watching.

She swallows hard, moistening her dry lips as she looks at him. They’re at level in this position. Ginny drops her hips more, her heels stabbing against opposite ankles as she crosses her feet.

He’s so big that Ginny feels only a little disappointed she can’t see his cock. She was delighted and consumed at every point at the _feel_. In her hands, inside her body. She jerks her hips once. His eyelids flutter shut - like the action gives him pleasure. She moans when he pulls out, almost completely – but only to the point where the head lingers. She sucks air into her lungs, loudly and shouts a whine when he slides back in.

He opens his eyes, seeking out her face. Ginny throws her arms back against the wall, angles her hips forwards, pushing back and rolls her hips around his dick as a response, using her strength.

_So good. So, so good._

He groans and drops his head into her shoulder. Ginny feels him shift forward, her posterior squished back against the wall. He angles himself differently - in a way that has Ginny worrying about his knees. Her concern lasts for about a second because he does it again, sending all reason and rationality to hell.

He pulls out and thrusts back in -  and –

“ _Mike_!”

He tightens his hold over her waist. She feels his bicep against his ear as he flattens the forearm under her head.

She sounds out rhythmic interjections, chiming in 'Ah's' with every thrust. She relaxes her back, keeping her arms fixed to the wall and fucks him in return. Mike's heavy panting turns to outright groans. He quickens pace and she cranes her neck, rolls her head against his forearm.

Mike changes the angle again, pulling her arms around his neck and then hugging her waist, pushing her deep into the wall behind her as though he means to take on her weight. He resumes fucking her, she encourages him by trying to match his movements. It becomes impossible to keep up when he rams his hips into her like that and her lower body goes numb.

That strangely sweet feeling builds inside and fans out over her belly. Ginny clings to it – owns it - savors it – lets it sweep over her and keel her over the precipice. She moans, loud and long, knowing that it works for him. Knowing that his rutting gets more frantic when she’s noisy. She closes her eyes and _feels_ him fuck her. _Feels_ that beautiful sensation of his cock pistoning into her body.

Ginny reaches for her clit – but he pushes her hand away, traps the erect nub between his long, stocky fingers and traces circles around it. She reaches for her breast – plays with her nipple, but he’s there too. Bending his head, nudging her hand away. Latching at her boob, licking her puffy nipple erect, following it with a brush of his beard in tandem. Fucking repeats it. When she tries to reach for her clit again, he rubs it vigorously, doesn’t give scope for her hand. So, Ginny reaches her hand around him, under his jacket and dress shirt. Spreads her fingers over his ass.

His glutes are hard and thick, the way they clench every time he shoves his cock into her is plain beautiful.

She opens her eyes, looks at him. His head bobs with every thrust of his ass. His eyes are fixed on her face even with his teeth grazing her breast. He lifts his head up, his thrusts get sloppy, and uncoordinated.

She does not see the tremble of his lips under all that facial fuzz but feels it when he rubs his mouth over her lips. It’s barely a kiss  but - with his hand on her clit, his cock filling her up, the friction _inside_ her body - it's...enough.

A languid heat spreads out from her centre. It hits her, slow – but profusely hot. It’s not as shocking or as thunderous as she expected, but it’s there just the same and it’s as amazing as she hoped. She climaxes with a quiet sob and an uncontrollanly wide grin – slumping her weight over him in a boneless embrace.

He comes, loud in her ear, hard inside her body. His body vibrates in a cadence not unlike hers when he expends his load, a growl follows when he crushes her against the wall with his slouching bulk. Ginny feels his orgasm ripple through her with a greater intensity than her own.

She leans her head back, struggling to catch her breath. Petting his sweat-sodden hair in slow, soothing strokes, listening to him. He wheezes into her pitching shoulder, pressing kisses onto her collarbone. 

Here in the dark, there’s little that can be deciphered. His body feels warmer than when they’re out in the sun. She cups his face, rubbing her shaky thumb over his cheek, wondering if his skin takes the same shade of pink as when he exerts himself out on the field or in the gym. He’s still shaking when he lifts his head and nuzzles her nose. 

His cum overruns their union, sliding down her thighs. It’s a wetness that marks her, like an unspoken claim inscribed in secret. It tells her that her body, her heart – _she_ \- is no longer her own.

She’s his, now.

Ginny doesn’t feel too poorly about it.

She opens her mouth for a soft, long, deep and wet kiss. His lips are still trembling when she pulls away to breathe. He rolls his forehead against hers, seeking reassurance or maybe - comfort.

“Ginny?” He asks. The first, proper word that he’s spoken since he stepped into the room. It sounds like a plea more than anything.

(Yeah, she doesn’t feel too poorly about being his because - he’s hers as well.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a third part. Why? Because they just cheated and shit needs to be resolved and I did not expect the smut to get away from me in this part.
> 
> Review, pwease??


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to lawofavgs for putting me out of misery with the hallmark fic  
> 

Mike's phone buzzes against his left knee. Ginny twitches, she's heard it as well.

He tries to level his breathing, willing his diaphragm to mimic the steady rise and fall of her chest. He clings to her like a child, hides his nose in her neck, squeezes her tight against him, refuses to acknowledge the urgent beckoning of his phone.  If there was any coherence to thought, he would probably laugh at himself.

He’s not ready to let go. He doesn’t want to go anywhere or do anything. He wants to stay there with her, inside her. He just wants to keep her with him in this perfect breach of space and time where there’s no consequence, no after-chatter, no Noah Casey – no Rachel.

Rachel.

His ex-wife, his girlfriend, love of a life that Mike once knew but no longer lived. Rachel – who opened the door to a second chance that Mike had wanted forever. Rachel, who is undoubtedly the one calling him.

His flaccid dick slips out when Ginny shifts again. Her thighs quiver precariously around his hips. He feels the pointed heels of her shoes gnashing painlessly at his half-clad calves. He reluctantly releases her waist. He slips a palm under her bottom, rubs at the dip where ass meets thigh allowing himself to cherish that smooth skin before he helps to her feet.

They reset themselves in the silence and darkness, not really looking at each other.

Mike’s vertebrae crack when he bends to pulls his pants and underwear up. He grunts and winces when he straightens up, shoving stained shirttails into his pants. His dicks shivers at the cool wetness that have ruined his boxers. His hands shake as he zips up, buttons up, belts down.

Ginny pulls her dress up by the straps, pinches at the ruffled sides of her dress, pulling it over her hips letting it flutter and fall in place. She sinks to her haunches without a word. Mike steps back when her hands pat around the floor. He thinks about how her underwear’s been on the dusty floor of this stuffy room the whole time. He almost speaks up to tell her that it’s unsanitary for her to wear it again, but the words die in his throat. He watches her actions like a mute, the sight of her yanking the undergarment up under her dress sends a thrill through his dick and Mike looks away, fixing his shirt, sorting out his tie.

Ginny’s purse comes alive and begins rattling on the table. It occurs to him that Noah might not have left the venue. Something compels him to cover her hands when she reaches for the purse just before she makes to open it.

She looks up at him then. He makes a wordless request that she seems to understand.

She ignores the phone.

He curls his fingers around the wrist of her pitching hand, rubs his thumb against the bony bump at the base of her thumb. She steps forward, wrist still trapped in his.

Mike gently claps the side of her face with his free palm and thumbs the slippery sweat-beads on her cheek. He inhales deeply before he leans for a kiss. 

She meets him with an open mouth and an eager tongue. He moans, sighing into her mouth, rubbing his tongue against hers. She cranes her neck to the side, letting him deepen the kiss, pulling her head to rest against his shoulder, giving better access.

He’s half-erect when they come up for air.

He acknowledges it with absolutely no remorse. He made a mess of everything – yet again, but, this is one mess than Mike does not regret. His one hope is that in the aftermath of the storm they will inevitably have to face, she will still be with him once the dust settles.

Whatever the outcome – at least he knows it’s an effort worth making. It’s a chance worth fighting for. _She’s_ worth fighting for. 

So, he takes her hand and leads her to the door.

 

*

 

In that brief silence in which they sorted their clothing, she thought he’d be stepping back, making apologies – or running away. She braced herself for the insurmountable weirdness. Instead, he kissed her with a surety that aroused her sexually (again) and then he took her hand and led her to the door.

His grasp on her hand is firm and warm. There’s a finality to it. Like he’s pledged some sort of proverbial allegiance to her. He’s leading her -  but  - Ginny feels walked with, not steered. Like he’s ready to walk with her into public, into the light, into Rachel’s face and take the flak.

Rachel.

God. Ginny ought to shoulder some responsibility. It’s not like she made any attempts to push him away. Maybe she should to start the conversation because the ‘as long as we’re teammates’ rule doesn’t apply anymore. Not after they did _that_.

She always thought of herself as person who rose above being _the other woman_. She found such weakness insufferable, even at the cost of heartache, interminable pining, and even love. The scar of ‘Mom and Kevin’ hasn’t healed yet. And yet here she is – a homewrecker (so what if technically Mike and Rachel aren’t married) with no regrets, no self-reproach, not even judgment for Mike.

She knows Mike. He’s not an insensitive or vindictive person. He won’t hold Rachel’s earlier infidelity as an excuse for a slip of behaviour. He’s not one to indulge in slips of behaviour, period.  He knows what’s at stake.

That’s what this push and pull between this is about, Ginny surmises. He backs off, refuses to acknowledge it, refuses to talk about it – hopes the ignorance will turn to habit and everything that simmers will be hushed away, protects himself.

Protects her in the process.

What is his plan? She wonders. Is he still blank from the afterglow of their fucking or is he thinking of the next move?

He squeezes her hand, like he senses all her disconnected thoughts. He brushes his wispy, fuzzy beard on her knuckles, places a gentlemanly kiss on them before releasing her and stepping out into the light.

It’s almost poetic.

Ginny leans against the door frame, allows herself to survey him in brightness of the corridor. He stands there facing her, his hands in his pockets, feet braced apart.

He looks happy, she notes. There’s a kind, loving look that fills his eyes when he smiles at her. 

He looks at her with the same sureness she’d felt in his hand.   

He seems more – together - than she’s ever seen him.

Which is ironic given his appearance: tie skewed, hanging lopsided around his unbuttoned collar; jacket wrinkled, creases beating down sheen of the dark grey fabric. His hair, a sure victim of Ginny’s fingers - tousled, short tufts sticking at odd angles. A hint of heat lingers on his skin leaving a rosy tint over the apples of his cheeks.

He looks like a hot mess – Ginny thinks – an oh so, so sexy hot mess.

Ginny holds back the smile as she eyes his facial hair. Her clit tingles at the memory of his rough fingers. The desire to experience that beard between her legs creeps up from nowhere.

 

*

 

Ginny’s smiling at him. Like _that_.

Mike regards her bemusedly. Her hair looks hilarious enough to joke about. It’s puffed up over her crown and flattened at the ends, the sleekness is wrecked with curls springing free at random and a halo of frizzy ends surround her head. Her cheeks have that ruddy glow like when they’re out on field. Her lips look swollen and black lines streak her face from the mascara that’s still bleeding at the corners of her eyes.

Her dress – that gorgeous green number that he’s never going to forget - is completely ruined. It’s crumpled, creased, and blemished with dark stains that leaves little room for speculation. 

Mike checks the ceilings and corners for cameras, then boldly steps forward and leans his head against her forehead. He presses his lips on her closed eyelids.

“I’m in love with you, Baker.” He whispers. “I think I have been, for a while.”

He doesn’t expect a reciprocation but her answer seems like one. “Okay.” She breathes, with a close-lipped satisfied smile.

It’s enough for him.

He grins against her forehead. “Where are you staying?” He asks, softly; nuzzling her nose with little eskimo kisses.

She opens her big brown eyes and smiles bright and answers. It’s a bewitching smile that has him dallying with the idea of pushing her back into that little room and taking her again.

He’s relieved that she’s put up at a hotel and not at Casey’s fancy villa at Beverly Hills. He doesn’t ask if Casey’s staying with her. They’re not ready for that conversation yet.

She doesn’t mention Rachel, or mention that she knows he’s staying at his old home in LA. They’re not ready for that conversation, either. 

He keeps his forehead against hers, rubbing her eyebrows with his.

To be frank, he doesn’t know what they’re ready for. This is complicated on so many levels, he doesn’t know where to begin.

“I’ll come by.” He murmurs, closing his eyes, and inhaling the smell of sex and sweat that radiates from her. “Get some rest, Ginny, alright? I’ll be there early morning.”

 _I have to talk to Rachel tonight. I owe her that much._ The words are left unsaid.

She seems to understand though. He feels her nodding, sighing longingly.

The sound of someone’s throat clearing has them jumping apart.

 

Eliot and Evelyn stand at the curved edge of the gangway. Eliot coughs, looking everywhere but at them. Evelyn’s gaze is laser-focused on him with censure.

And yet, Mike cannot bring himself to be embarrassed.

“People are looking for you.” Eliot starts, glancing at them and then away. “Erm. Both of you.”

Mike blinks. He leans against the wall, rubs his beard, and exchanges a wordless glance with Ginny.

“I er – I tried to cover as much as I could but it didn’t work with…everyone.” Eliot stutters looking at Evelyn with blatant helplessness.

Evelyn snaps out of her angry-stare.  She points her finger at Ginny making the same face when the twins are getting rowdy and no one can handle their monkeyshines. “You. Ladies room. _Now_.” She growls.

Ginny shifts her eyes, hangs her head low, slumps her shoulders and walks towards Evelyn, like an errant teenager caught in the act. Mike runs his eyes over the straps crossing over her muscular back, his mouth twitching at the way her ass sways when she walks. Evelyn marches up to meet her halfway and grabs her elbow. She makes a deliberate show of walking her away from him like she’s afraid that Ginny might drift back to him.

“You!” Evelyn jabs a forefinger at Mike, narrowing her eyes at him.  “ _Haven’t_ seen her since the stage. Got it?”

Mike nods. He’d be amused if Ginny wasn’t looking back, locking her eyes at him with yearning. He feels a hankering ache in her chest at that. This separation from her, this inability to reach her and hold her by his side, this forced cover up - it’s a preview of their imminent future – at least as long as he’s an active player.

Evelyn stops just as they come upon Eliot. She gives him a pointed, life-threatening stare that has the man cowering. “You!” She wags her finger at Eliot. “Find some excuse that works to explain – “ She jabs her finger back in Mike’s direction. “ _That!_ ”

“Er why…?” Eliot blubbers. “I work for her.” He points to Ginny.

“Right now, you work for me.” Evelyn barks. She leaves Ginny’s arm and steps into Eliot’s face in a menacing way that sends chills all the way down Mike’s spine. “You want…to choose life, social media boy." She grinds out. " _Not_ a painful death that involves fire sauce, decapitation and my oven and _not_ in that order!” 

Eliot nods enthusiastically and (fuck, Evelyn’s so convincing) Mike’s nodding along with him. He pushes away from the wall, walks down the corridor, eyes on Ginny.

“Hey!” Evelyn snaps her fingers between Ginny’s eyes – breaking her focus on him. “Stop with the heart eyes!”

“I’m not…making…heart-eyes!” Ginny sputters, weakly.

Mike hides his smile when she averts her eyes shyly, squeezing her mouth to hide her smile, her ears turning red. Evelyn propels Ginny forwards.

“Amelia… _and_ _Blip_.” Evelyn growls, looking between the three of them. “Do not _need_ to know.”

She pinches her mouth, at Mike before dragging Ginny away.

He strolls after them, peers to catch a sight of Ginny as they disappear around the camber, troubled by what reprimand Evelyn might have for Ginny.

But, when Evelyn’s voice drifts back and he breathes easier. 

“Okay! You -!” (Mike grins when he hears Evelyn squeal excitedly.) “Tell me… _everything_!”

 

*

 

“Ginny!”

Ginny nearly pees all over herself right there. Evie sucks her breath and freezes by her side.

“Rachel!” Evie squeaks.

Rachel smiles sweetly at Evelyn and then turns to Ginny. “Have you seen -? ” She breaks off, looks at Ginny, taking in her appearance. “Oh -! Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Ginny blurts. “No!” Evie chimes.

Ginny frowns at her. Rachel looks between them confused.

“Ginny!” Amelia’s voice comes from behind.

_Fuuuuck!_

“Where were you? Everyone’s been…” She trails off and looks at Ginny’s dress with horror. "Are you all right?"

“She had a wardrobe malfunction.” Evelyn pipes up.

“Oh really?” Rachel says, sounding disinterested but nevertheless inquires. “Where?” She scans her dress.

Ginny thinks of Mike’s palms raking over her breasts, squeezing her flesh – his beard grating over her nipple, his tongue swirling over the puckered flesh…

“Everywhere.” Ginny squeaks.

“That’s –um- what happened?” Amelia says, still looking shocked.

(…his hand skating up her thigh, his fingers hooking inside her thong, his calluses brushing over the folds covering her…)

“Did you spill something?” Rachel asks, eyeing the thick congealed stains.

(….his cock rubbing inside her, his hot soppy cum spilling inside her, drying on her thighs…)

“Yes.” Ginny says, closing her eyes, willing her mind to stop throwing images at her. “Um.” She shoves her hand into her hair and then nearly cries with relief when she feels sleek ends against her natural, curly roots. “I um – accidentally wiped this weird stuff they put in my hair…” She pulls her fingers out and twiddles the residual sticky hair product to show Rachel and Amelia the evidence. Rachel nods slowly, looking at Ginny like she’s some walking-talking fashion faux pas.

Amelia – well, looks mortified.

“I’m sorry, Amelia.” Ginny says. “I wasn’t thinking, I’ll pay for the dress, okay? I don’t think it can be fixed, though.”

Amelia looks a little bereft. Ginny feels sorry for her recalling the effort her agent took in procuring this beautiful piece of work that got some hot-ass nookie with –

_( with…umm…Rachel’s boyfriend._ _Shit!)_

“It’s just that um...” Ginny says, looking between both women.

Evelyn yanks her elbow and drags her out. “She’s not used to being all dolled up. We need to fix her up before the vultures out there get pictures! I’ve got her, Amelia! Bye Rachel! See you later!”

“Wait!” Rachel calls. “Don’t you need to use the…” She gestures around the ladies room.

“Mike’s looking for you!” Evelyn yells as she leads Ginny away.  “I think he’s at the bar!” She hollers and swings the door close behind her.

 

“Ohmigod! Tellme! Tell me!” Evelyn jumps up and down as she pushes Ginny into what seems to be an accessible bathroom for the disabled and locks it.

Ginny does not hide her disdain.

“Evie…Noah! He-!”

“Took off.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I was out at the swag counter and saw him leave. He looked like he was gonna cry.” Evie looks grossed out. She holds her chest and takes in a couple of breaths before she speaks. “So you and Mike. Did you…?”

“Yes.” Ginny huffs, shaking her head.

“Yes!” Evelyn whoops. “Gimme gimme gimmme – details, Gin! You owe me details!”

Ginny makes a face at her. “Evie, Noah and I had a fight…”

“And?”

“And Mike overheard somethings.”

“Gaaah! I knew it! I knew it!” Evelyn claps. “Did he step in to punch Billionaire Ken in his face?”

“Billionnaire Ken? You were all ‘Noah this’ and ‘Noah that’ like a couple of hours ago!”

“Did he sweep you in his arms right away?” Evelyn ignores her insinuation. “Did he crush that fuzzy face on your willing lips? Did he rip the bodice of your dress with the desperate thirst of a man in the desert?”

Clearly Evelyn’s updated on the trashy romance novel front.

“My bodice is fine, thank you very much.” Ginny snorts, pointing to her dress. “But…” Ginny blushes and heads to the mirror. “Something like that, yeah.”

Ginny’s smile falls when she sees her face. She looks like something out of a horror movie. She prods her hair, tentatively.

“Aah! Just run it under the water, you can totally pull off the wet-hair look.” Evelyn says, then bounces on her heels. “Then what?”

“Then nothing! Evie!” Ginny exclaims. “It’s not something I want to talk about, okay?”

“Are you kidding me?” Evelyn groans. She wiggles her eyebrows. “Was it good?”

Ginny looks down.

“Was it?” Evelyn pokes her.

“Ow! Yes!”

“Did you -?” Evie rolls her eyes, suggestively.

“Yes.” _Twice_ – but she doesn’t say that.

Evie screeches first. “What about him? Did he?”

“Yes.”

“Aaah! More more more!”

“No!”

“Did you - ?” Evie curls her fist, prods her tongue out through her cheek and makes an obscene gesture. Evie squeals and makes noises.

“Ugh! No! Evie! Gross!”

“Is he – y’know?” She pulls her palms apart bulging her eyes.

“That’s enough! I’m not telling you any more!”

“C’mon Ginny!” Evelyn whines “I want the _deee-tails_!”

“We just met his wife out there!” Ginny points to the wall.

“Oh. Right.” Evelyn blinks.

“Yeah-huh!” Ginny snorts sarcastically.

“She’s his ex-wife.” Evelyn insists. 

“They’re in a relationship.  Doesn’t make it right.”

“Meh!” Evelyn waves her hand, dismissively. “That was never gonna last anyway.”

Ginny blinks at her. Evelyn shrugs in a very matter-of-fact way.

“Evie!” Ginny chides.

“What?”

“Noah!” Ginny sputters.

“What about him?”

Ginny widens her eyes.

“Oh. Right.” Evelyn nods and then makes a sober face. “Girl, you cruel.”

Ginny makes a face at her.

Evelyn’s face bursts with that hilarious excitement. “Brioche, breadstick or a baguette!”

“Huh?”

“Y’know…his…” Evelyn rolls her eyes downwards. “Is he a brioche, a baguette or a breadstick.”

“Evie!”

“Y’know I cannot believe you’d be okay with this. We just…” Ginny drops her voice. “Cheated on our partners!”

Evelyn frowns contemplatively. “Yeah.” She sounds a little sad, then screws her eyebrows. “Or…”

“Or?”

“Or maybe you two ’ve just been holding off the inevitable.”

“What?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? I mean, have you never noticed the way he looks at you?”

“Who, Mike?”

“No, Blip.” Evelyn quips acerbically. “Of course Mike!”

“Evie!”

“Look – even Blip’s not convinced about that charade he pulls with Rachel.”

“What charade?”

“Ginny – I’ve seen Mike before the divorce. He wasn’t a man for public affections but it was clear that he was loyal and besotted with his wife. It’s not the same now – Blip’s noticed it. I’ve noticed it. It’s like he’s forcing himself to be with her.”

“Are you serious?”

“As cancer.” Evelyn sighs. “I always assumed it had something to do with you. Especially after that – night before the trade– what? It’s a year, now?”

“What about Blip?”

“Blip doesn’t talk about it, but – he has, more than once, mentioned that Mike has a blindspot when it comes to you. He will not be supportive about you two, at first, let me tell you that! I mean you two _are_ on the same team. So – I’m telling you, loud and clear. He doesn’t need to know. Not yet, anyway.”

“You do know, he thinks you can’t keep a secret.”

“Which is the why I get away with keeping _a lot_ of secrets.” Evelyn winks.

“Evelyn.” Ginny sighs. “It’s just too complicated.” She whines and hides her face in her hand. “Unnh! What did I do?”

“Well! That depends! Was it just a good ol’ fashioned get-it-out-of-your-system quickie-fuck or…”

“He says he’s in love with me. I – I think he’s planning to break up with Rachel. He didn’t tell me as much but – I think that’s what he’s going to do.”

Evelyn squeals and starts jumping in her spot.

“Evie! Rachel’s gonna get her heart broken!

“Eh! She deserves it!” Evelyn brushes it off.

“No one deserves that!” Ginny exclaims. “How would you feel if it were you?”

Evelyn stops and then gives her a pointed look. “Ginny, I know it’s complicated, but I know you’ll figure it out. Both of you will.”

Ginny huffs. “How can you be so casual about it?”

Evelyn shrugs. “I feel like you two are good for each other – okay? I mean – I could be wrong - but that’s just how I feel about all of this. I know there are complications – but nothing worthwhile is ever easy, Gin.”

Ginny looks at her friend and winces.

“Now.” Evelyn says, narrowing her eyes at her. “Mama needs sordid details.”

“Well, he’s no brioche.” Ginny mutters, unable to contain her blush.

Evelyn lets out a high pitch squeal that shreds Ginny’s ears.

 

*

 

Mike splashes water all over his face, combing out his hair with his hands. The sweat stains on his collar are far too obvious but he doesn’t bother with it. His silk dress-shirt is sodden but he doesn't bother with it. It smells rank, so he takes the sampler-sized bottles of cologne that’s laid out in those small baskets and damned nearly empties the bottle over his shift. He flaps out the jacket and wears it, patting down the creases in swift, steady motions.

He looks at his reflection in the mirror as he readjusts his tie.

He _is_ going to pay for this dearly.

Karma _is_ a real fuckin’ bitch. Even when he’d done no wrong, even when he’d tried to do the right thing, Mike’s faced costly penalties all his life.

Here, he committed the ultimate violation against his conscience.

It is he, who breached trust this time and effectively proved Rachel’s theory that he only chased after the unattainable.

How many times had he faced a mirror in the past and cowered? After Rachel’s betrayal came to light, Mike would look at himself with self-pity – curse the sad fuck who couldn’t hold onto his wife.  When Ginny began to invade his dreams, he’d shy away from his own gaze – curse the creepy-assed perv who fantasized about his rookie. When he fucked up his friendship with Ginny over Amelia, with Blip over the trade, he’d look at himself with confusion – curse the fuck-up who found novel ways to ruin everything. When he acknowledged that he was fucking his ex-wife but thinking of Ginny he’d stare at himself with disgust – curse himself for being mentally sick.

 _"Garbage”_ is what Rachel called it. The quagmire of drama and dissatisfaction, that was Mike’s life. Wanting what he couldn’t have, having what he didn’t want.

Except, Mike has what he wants. He knows it deep to the point where marrow meets bone. Thirty seven, wandering around his whole life, an overgrown child playing a kid's game for a living – he found it in an abandoned projector booth in the arms of a woman he’s not _allowed_ to, but loves anyway.

Tonight, he stares at a mirror after committing an act of betrayal and sees, not cocky Mike, not funny Mike, not Mike who hides his shit behind snark and mockery.

He sees his game face.

He’s Mike Lawson. Plain, Mike Lawson.

A determined man readying himself at bat, up on the plate, ready to swing at the fucking curveball that may very well mark the end of the inning for him.

There’s only one consequence he fears, and that is losing Ginny. He doesn’t know on what grounds he can promise faithfulness to her when _this_ is the premise on which they came together. ( _Garbage_ – Rachel had said.) He thinks of Ginny’s internal sense of honour knowing he’d inadvertently dragged her down with him.

Once all the cards are shown and the wheel resets, Mike knows it will weigh on her mind. Her principles and codes will kick in, her over-scrupulous sense of responsibility with transform into a moral self-reproach. He may very well lose her over it.

The easy thing to do is run away. Sneak off – run off into the sunset – get away from it all. Hide from the people they will hurt. Avoid the reproaches, shirk off the responsibilities, ignore the wagging tongues, avoid the endless list of explanations and be elusive to the burgeoning aftermath of inappropriate and unprofessional conduct between two ballplayers. 

(Mike never forgets that. That he’s a ballplayer. He never lets her forget it either. It’s been the buffer to avoid ‘the talk’. It’s been the curtain to hide behind, whenever compartmentalization failed.) He's at the end of his career, with very little to show for it, and if he doesn’t go down fighting, he will always wonder if Ginny will respect him the same.

And, Ginny has a longer way to go than him. She has a higher calling and truer purpose  – and Mike wants her to see it through.

He wants to be there when she does.

He wipes his face, sets his jaw and walks out of the bathroom.

 

There’s a small crowd at the refreshments counter. Apparently, there’s a long break for commercial before the final three awards are announced. Mike spots Rachel talking to Ken Rosenthal.

“We’re leaving, now.” He says, taking Rachel’s arm.

“Where have you been?" She asks. "What happened to you – you look -”

“Not here.”

“Mike, the after-party…”

“We’re not going for it.”

“But we have to socialize.” Rachel placates, placing her palm on his chest.

He spots Ginny as Evelyn drags her out of what looks like the accessible restroom. It looks like she’s making a run for it, as well. Her hair is completely wet, curling over her shoulders, looking much better than the disaster they’d jointly turned it into to. He shakes off the memory, spots Amelia and Eliot waiting for her and sighs with relief. She's scanning the room, frantically – her eyes coming to rest on him, then on Rachel. Mike knows she can see the arm he has on Rachel’s elbow and the hand Rachel has on his chest.

The doubt creeping on her face is plain as day. There's a rattled confusion appearing in her eyes. 

He doesn’t think any less of her for it. He doesn’t look away. He looks at her squarely, same way he does out on field. He makes a signal for the change-up: Ginny’s least favourite pitch.

She’s stopped waving it off over the last few months, because she trusts him. That’s what he’s asking of her now – to trust him – hoping against hope that she’ll understand what he implies.

She twists her mouth, nods sharply, and allows herself to be dragged away.

Rachel’s frowning at him peculiarly, glancing in the direction of his gaze - on Ginny. There’s no suspicion in her eyes, only curiosity.

"Rachel.” He says, in his captain-voice. “It’s time to go.”

 

“Mike, you’re freaking me out!” She says, when they’re back at the house.

(The house that he paid for. The house that he’d invested all his hopes and dreams in. The house that was once a home. The house that felt like a strange place, these last few months.)

The only thing Mike faced head on in his life is a baseball. Everything else, when it got too hard to deal, he ran away from. He runs in the wrong direction, makes it worse. This is what it’s like with him. One step forward, two steps back.

But he can't run away from Ginny anymore. 

He’s not made of a metal core here. He cares about Rachel, even loves her on some level. The last thing he wants to do is hurt her. Every possible way to apologize, every believable excuse, every method to blunt the blow he was going to inflict fell short. His mind shuts everything out as they drive home. 

He thinks about Casey’s words to Ginny, thinks of Casey’s heartbroken expression when he walked out on Ginny...

Every scenario to mitigate, ends poorly. Rachel was his best friend at a point in his life. She’s going to see right through his bullshit.

At the very least – he owes it to her to be honest.

 

 

“I can’t do this anymore.” He says. “I’m sorry, Rachel.”

She doesn’t mistake his words. She stares at him with the colour draining from her face.

“It’s Ginny, isn’t it?” She echoes. “You’re in love with her.”

Mike wonders in that moment if the whole world sees it, yet him and Ginny are the only ones clueless.

There’s no point in denying it. “Yes.” He says, calmly.

“Have you slept with her…?” Rachel sputters.

“No.” He lies with a straight face.

“You expect me to believe you?”

“I’ve always been honest with you.” He lies again.

She snaps out of shock, right then. And the she loses it. He’s never seen Rachel lose it like that, ever. Mike cringes: that's the way she screams at him. He watches with a growing despair as she fumes and curses. He’s never faced naked, overt spite from Rachel - and that’s all she has for him now. He feels helpless, there is no excuse he can make, and no way in which he can console her.

But he’s an adult. He fucked up. He’s facing it.

She accuses him of the very same thing she’d laid on him a year ago before she broke up with David. How he chases after what he can’t have. How he’s doing it again. How he didn’t like ‘having’. How he almost had Rachel fooled that he could change.

Mike listens quietly, and – he’d be lying if he said that her venom didn’t affect him.

“You’re doing it again…” Rachel growls, with a face as red as her hair and tears streaming down her pretty cheeks. “…to her! She’s a fool if she’s fallen for your garbage!”

Mike somewhat agrees. Ginny is a fool if she finds something in him worth wanting that she doesn’t seek out in a guy like Casey. (But, all the more reason for Mike to make it worthwhile, right?)

“And when you have her, then what? You’re not going to give up baseball! You know there’ll be scandal and all these precious seventeen years will be laid waste. Then what? I’ll tell you what's going to happen! You’ll get bored and restless and you’ll come running back! To me!”

He won’t. Mike knows that with a certainty he’d never felt in the past.  But, he’s not going to tell her that.

“She’s a child! Mike! She’s thirteen years younger than you! What are you two going to talk to about at night? Hah? Once you’re done with all the fucking and the novelty wears off? Of all the women – Mike – that’s the one relationship you know will never work. She’s your _teammate_! She’s on the verge of making history! You’re trying to live out your glory days vicariously through her! You’re going to be a joke! A picture in a museum, of a guy who was once somebody, but will always remembered as the guy who was Mr. Ginny Baker! What can you possibly offer her after a couple of years?”

He doesn’t know.

“I hope she treats you the same! I hope she gets bored of you and then comes home one day and tells you the same bullshit you just said to me!”

Mike sincerely hopes otherwise.

“I’m going to destroy you!” Rachel shrieks. “Both of you!”

“Look.” He speaks then. “Baker and I – we’re not anything right now.  We can’t be anything right now. We’re teammates. I’m her captain. But – only for so long. I’m done, Rachel – I’m ready to retire and - ”

“You expect me to believe you’re going to just what -? Be platonic till you hang up your cap?”

“Yes.” He says. He’s lying. He doesn’t have a fucking clue what they’re going to do next.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Baseball comes first, you know that.”

She glares at him in silence.

He scrubs his beard. “Believe what you will. I’m not going to screw with Baker’s career or her life. And I promise you…” He says, finding a fierceness rising in him. “If you come after her – I’ll be in the way.”

She clucks her tongue and shakes her head at him indignantly.

“I’m not joking Rach.” He says, plainly.

That has her fall apart. She shrinks into the bed, howling and weeping. Mike sighs and goes to his closet, feeling helpless and hopeless, starts pulling his clothes out. He stuffs them quickly into his suitcase, knowing there’s nothing he can do except be in the room for as long as he can…and then leave.

“I’m am sorry Rachel.” He says, once her wailing subsides to sobs that pinch him deep inside. “I know that doesn’t mean much right now – but I am really sorry. I don’t know what I can do to fix it.”

She looks at him like he’s some sort of insect.

Mike takes it. He gives her a sad, wan smile.

“You deserve better.” He states truthfully.

She shakes her head at him.

“I understand…” He says, with a long sigh. “How you angry and hurt you are. Believe me, if there was anything I could do to make it better I would. But it’s better this way.”

“You don’t have a fucking clue how I feel!” She shrieks.

“Actually…” Mike sighs out loud. “I know _exactly_ how you feel.”

Rachel looks at him in horror for a long, silent couple of minutes.

“Is that what this is?” She spits. “Payback?”

“Believe me.” Mike looks her in the eye. “It’s not! I cannot tell you how sorry I am about this.” He sighs. “But – I can’t lie to myself – or you. I’m done with all that.”

“You know what this is? This is you trying to fix the empty hole that your Dad left and your deadbeat Mom couldn’t fix. You two have nothing in common! This is not going to end well.”

Her words hurt, but Mike tolerates it. He reckons that he’s hurt Rachel enough, so she gets some unchecked jabs at him.

But.

The truth is: Mike knows what it is for the first time in his life.

He’s no longer that wimpy kid pining for his father’s approval anymore. He’s not a failed husband desperate to prove he’s worth more. He’s fucked up, sure, so many times – but -  he’s older, he’s wiser, he’s never been averse to hard work.

He nearly wrecked the one good thing that happened to him this past year.

It’s a privilege to be wanted by Ginny Baker. Not because she was a ballplayer, or the first woman in the majors, or because she was beautiful. But because she was true, loyal, and loving.

Thirteen-year age gap, different interests, her career, his career – whatever.

He was true, he was loyal and he could love as well.

Him and Ginny have that much in common. They both love, with all their heart.

 

*

 

Ginny opens the hotel door at six thirty in the morning after a sleepless night pacing about the room wondering what Mike was up to. She’s faced with the sight of a human disaster. He looks haggard, wearied and old – but his eyes brighten at the sight of her.

He enters her room and gives her a long kiss.

“Did you get any sleep?” He asks.

“Nope.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah, I don’t have my mojo right now.”

“Mojo?”

“Yeah!” He drawls, grinning at her. “I really had this vision of coming in here, pushing you up against the wall, fucking you all the way into the afternoon – but….”

“Smooth.” Ginny comments. “Really, don’t tone down the sexy talk on my behalf.

He drags himself to her bed and plops down. Ginny watches him kick off his shoes and socks. He tosses that godawful jacket. She watches with raised eyebrows as he tugs off his jeans and shirt until he’s flopped on his back in nothing but his undervest and boxers. “Get over here, Baker.” He sighs.

Ginny climbs on top of him, giggling. He grabs her ass as she straddles his waist and looks up at her with exhausted eyes.

“I’ll let you have as many ‘old man’ jokes as you’d like – but I’m shit tired…okay? I just – I just wanna sleep.” He begs.

“Is that why you came all the way here?” Ginny closes her palms over his chest and props her chin up on it. “To sleep?”

“I came to cuddle.”

“’M sorry.” She sasses. “I don’t cuddle without sex.”

“I’ll rock your world, I promise…” He says, with a small laugh. “But I gotta sleep first.”

Ginny can see that.

She stops teasing him and sits up. “Come here, Old Man.” She beckons. She slides down into his lap when he sits up, wraps her arms around him when hugs her. Ginny feels his sigh between her breasts as he nuzzles into her chest.

“Rachel?” She asks, petting his back.

He whimpers – loudly, buries his head into her boobs.

“That bad hah?” She asks, stroking his hair.

He looks up at her, rubbing his bearded chin over her breastbone. “Noah?” He asks.

“We’re done.”

He looks a little apologetic. “He was a good one, Baker. Better man than I am, for sure.” He comments wryly. Ginny doesn’t disagree but she doesn’t agree with his self-assessment either. He kisses her neck and collarbones. He buries his head in her chest again. “Tell me you did it face to face.” Comes his muffled plea.

"Text.”

He half-groans, half guffaws and looks up at her. “Kids these days.” He snorts.

“You’re one to talk.” She teases, bending down to kiss his nose. “How many groupies have been the victim of your cellular service provider.”

“Far too many.” He groans. “I’m done with all that…BTW.” He grins suddenly. “See – I know what BTW is.”

Ginny laughs out loud and hugs him as he buries his head in her chest again. “God I love you.” She hears him mutter.

“You’re such a sap.” She says, but she’s just as deliriously happy inside.

“How’s your day today?” He asks.

“Cancelled everything. Planned to sleep in.”

He draws back and leans up. She makes out with him, slow, deep, with a lot of tongue and a big smile. “Best plan ever.” He mumbles against her mouth when he breaks away.

They separate only long enough to get settled into bed. Ginny loves the feeling of having his warm embrace cushion her around when she spoons her back into his front. She feels safe, protected – loved.

“Hey Ginny?” He mumbles, sleepily against her shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Do you still have the dress?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. You should keep it. Green’s really your colour.” He murmurs and then slips off into a well-deserved slumber.

Evelyn’s right. There may be complications but nothing worthwhile is ever easy. But – Ginny’s really good with hard work and so is Mike.

 _They’ll_ – figure it out.

Ginny thinks of the way he looked at her all night and follows him into a deep sleep with a smile on her face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you my bawson fam.  
> 


End file.
